


Wedding Dance

by Lomonaaeren



Series: 2013 Advent Fics [13]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: Advent, Angst, Astoria Is Awesome, Draco Is Awesome, Drama, F/M, Ginny Is Awesome, HP: Epilogue Compliant, Harry Is Awesome, Humor, M/M, Multi, Not Epilogue Compliant, Polyamory, Romance
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-13
Updated: 2013-12-13
Packaged: 2018-01-04 13:32:56
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,808
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1081585
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Lomonaaeren/pseuds/Lomonaaeren
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Harry and Draco are in love with each other, and with Ginny and Astoria. Amazingly, it works.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Wedding Dance

**Author's Note:**

> Written as an Advent fic for bicrim, who asked for _Poly fic. Draco and harry fall in love, but do not fall out of love with their canon wives. The four of them figure it out. Realistic amounts of both fluff and angst_. Hopefully this works!
> 
> All relationships listed in the tags occur, as well as references to Ginny/others and Astoria/others.

“This is  _completely_ mad,” Harry muttered into Draco’s neck, his arms locking around Draco until he heard Draco grunt and struggle a little for breath.  
  
“We’re agreed that it won’t go away, though, aren’t we?” Draco whispered into his ear, and squeezed him back.   
  
Harry nodded reluctantly. He had been noticing Draco casually for months, at the Quidditch games that the Ministry organized on weekends, in the corridors of the Ministry, in Parkinson’s office when he dropped by to chat with her, and at what felt like every single shop in Diagon Alley. But he was allowed to notice other people. Ginny had made that clear from the start of their relationship. It was just anything  _other_ than that that wasn’t allowed.  
  
This noticing hadn’t  _stopped,_ though. Harry found himself opening his eyes in the middle of the night, thinking about Draco’s shoulders, the way he stood, the slow smile he had when he thought no one would notice, even the stern mask that he would immediately change his smile back into if he did see someone noticing. He wanted to touch him, speak to him, do more than that.   
  
And that meant he had to tell Draco. And they had to tell Ginny. And Astoria. Draco said that he thought his wife would be—amenable to the plan he had proposed. Harry had assumed that was because pure-blood marriages had understandings about such things, discreet lovers and husbands and wives not often choosing each other and so on.  
  
But Ginny hadn’t been raised that way, even if she was a pure-blood. Her mum and dad loved each other and didn’t want anyone else, and she had expected the same of Harry.  
  
Harry never would have agreed to Draco’s mad plan if the desire wasn’t eating  _both_ of them alive. Because Draco had been noticing Harry for as long as Harry had been noticing him, if not longer.  
  
This was what Draco wanted, though, and what Draco wanted mattered to Harry as Ginny’s so often had mattered. So he drew back from Draco now, smiled at him, and nodded. “I have the courage if you do.”  
  
Draco laughed near his ear. “I hope that a  _Gryffindor_ has more courage than that.” And he kissed Harry, just once, chastely. They had agreed that that, and the hugging, was as much as they were going to do when they hadn’t told Ginny and Astoria yet.  
  
“I was almost Sorted into Slytherin, remember?” Harry murmured back, stroking Draco’s hair.  
  
Draco brightened at him. It was subtle, but it was an expression that changed his whole face, his eyes and his mouth and even the sheen off his hair. Harry had to marvel that just sharing little bits of information about himself that not everyone knew with Draco was enough to make him react that way.  
  
It was that, more than the physical desire itself, that told him how real this was. How worth asking for.  
  
But when he hugged Draco one more time and turned away, his mind was filled with thoughts of Ginny: the way she would squint at him when he proposed practicing some dangerous new Quidditch move with her and then grin in reckless acceptance; how she would fling out a seemingly careless hand to touch his shoulder, always knowing exactly where he was without looking at him; the tender way she spoke of her family, lying in bed with him, her head on Harry’s chest.  
  
If he could have both of them, all of them, he would welcome it. He didn’t know if that was possible. He tended to think it wasn’t, knowing Ginny’s background.  
  
But he would never know unless he asked.  
  
*  
  
“I told you that I would ask you before doing anything like this, Astoria.”  
  
Astoria sat with her eyes on her hands for so long that Draco leaned forwards and put his hand on top of them. Astoria managed to smile at that, and looked up at him, gazing at her with that tender concern she so much appreciated.  
  
He was so  _handsome_ , her husband. And not romantic, but something better: steady. They had agreed to get married because they both wanted children and because it would please their families, but something else had grown from that. Not passion, not exactly; Astoria would laugh when Daphne told tales about being swept off her feet by Theo. But the roots of an oak could raise a mighty tree that didn’t seem, on the  _surface_ , to have much to do with that buried network, and still owed its existence to them.  
  
She and Draco were friends. They cared for each other. They were in love in the soft way that Astoria sometimes thought her parents were, after so many years of being together. And she and Draco had only been married for five years. It was an achievement.  
  
She had tended to think that nothing would ever change with it, not down the years, not when they finally had children, not when they grew old. If they had attained something this strong and mature so young, why should it? Astoria could not envision becoming a different person, either.  
  
And now, this.  
  
“You’re asking for—permission,” she finally managed to say, and licked her lips. She looked around the library, an old room at the heart of Malfoy Manor, done in marble and wood, gleaming in everything from the shape of the mantle to the iron pokers and the gilt titles on the leather covers of the books. Astoria wondered if she was wrong to feel that a cloud of soot had flown into the room and dimmed that shine.  
  
“No,” Draco said gently.  
  
Astoria turned to face him, frowning. They understood each other, most of the time. Now Draco seemed to have taken a journey to the other side of the world and was shouting back at her from that distance. “I don’t understand. Are you not going to sleep with Potter if I tell you that you can?”  
  
“Not permission,” Draco said, and raised her hands to his lips, his eyes on hers. “Nothing so  _grudging_ as that.” Astoria opened her mouth to protest that it wasn’t grudging; she and Draco had indeed discussed something like this happening before love grew between them, and lots of other pure-blood marriages had husbands or wives sleep with someone else. Draco raised his own hand this time. “I’m asking you for acceptance. And in the meantime, you can sleep with someone else if you’d like to, as well. Just  _tell_ me about it. If you take a regular lover, a man or a woman, or if you want to sleep with someone on a whim. And we stay married.”   
  
He hesitated, then added, while Astoria was still reeling with the suddenness of that, “The only thing I’ll ask is that you not bear a child to any other man. I need to be sure that any children born into our marriage are Malfoy heirs.” He smiled, the smile that no one else ever saw, that filled his eyes up with sweetness. “And Greengrass heirs.”  
  
Astoria smiled back. Her hand trembled a little in his. “Can I think about it?” she asked. She already knew she would probably agree, but she had to deal with the feelings inside her heart. Where a cloud of soot had dimmed the titles of the books a minute ago, now they reminded her of the way she had felt when she was a young girl confronting a shelf of unknown books: that they were all maps to a strange land she might explore.  
  
“Of course,” Draco said, and kissed her cheek, and left her alone. Astoria looked around, and saw the walls of the library collapsing in her mind.  
  
What lay beyond might be a frightening landscape in some ways, but it was open.  
  
*  
  
“I never expected you to ask this.”  
  
Ginny knew her voice was flat, and she could hear Harry wincing behind her. She didn’t care. What he had said had fallen on her like a lightning bolt, and she had no reason to try and make this more comfortable for him.  
  
The only thing she was grateful for, at the moment, was that Harry had asked this before they had children. It would have been shocking to try and bring children into an—an openly unfaithful marriage? Ginny wasn’t sure what to call it. Mum had told her all sorts of things about marriage and motherhood, the kind of secrets only confided between mothers and daughters, before she married, but  _this_ hadn’t been one of those things. Her father would never have dared…  
  
Ginny paused.  
  
Why had she thought that? Dad wasn’t  _afraid_ of Mum. He just was gentle around her, and smiled at her a lot, and agreed with her a lot, and tried to avoid her temper, and spent time in his shed with his Muggle artifacts when she was angry.  
  
That recollection made Ginny frown and turn around. Perhaps she and Harry needed to have a fight, but she didn’t want their marriage to become the way she had suddenly seen her parents’ marriage. She wanted more than that.  
  
 _And is it a sin if Harry does, too?_  
  
She faced Harry in a more complex mood than she had been just seconds ago, although she also folded her arms and scowled so that he knew he wasn’t getting off  _that_  easily. “You think you really want Malfoy?” she asked. She knew Harry had looked at men before, but that was different.  
  
“I really want him,” Harry said, in a whisper. He hadn’t moved from the green armchair he’d been sitting in when he first told her, but now he switched his gaze from the fire to her, and there was a simple appeal in his eyes that touched Ginny. “And I really want you.” He paused. Ginny waited. The fire crackled.  
  
“I’m in love with both of you,” Harry finished, and his voice trembled.  
  
Ginny shut her eyes. That complex mood was still with her, and so were the memories of five years of marriage. That was perhaps the only reason why she wasn’t flinging hexes at Harry and demanding a divorce right now.  
  
She had been in love with Dean as well as Harry. That much was certain. She had dated Michael Corner and a few other boys and known that what she felt for them was liking and lust and curiosity, not anything deep. But she had loved Dean. At one time, she had been sure that she could spend the rest of her life with him. They had dated for two years after Hogwarts, bonded by memories of running and fear during the war, the way that Harry was bonded with Ron and Hermione because of different memories.   
  
Because of that, Ginny couldn’t be a hypocrite and tell Harry that the idea of loving two people was impossible.  
  
She  _did_ wonder if Harry had mistaken his feelings. What he felt for Malfoy, after a few months of stares and longing embraces and nothing more than a kiss—because she trusted Harry when he told her that was all it had been—couldn’t be as deep as what he felt for her.  
  
But Merlin knew, Ginny had never taken it well when Mum had told her that she was mistaken about her own feelings. Ginny wasn’t in Harry’s head, and she had never learned Legilimency, so she wouldn’t be. She could only trust what he said and leave it to him to find out the mistake later, if it was one.  
  
“All right,” she said, opening her eyes. “But I get to date other people, too.”  
  
Harry gave her a smile that she had never seen before, so startling and bright that Ginny blinked. He stood up and came forwards to wind one arm around her waist, one around her shoulders, and tilt her head back to kiss her. Ginny shivered, reassured of at least one thing. There was no less passion in his kiss than there had ever been.  
  
“Thank you,” Harry whispered into her ear. “I know this was hard for you, and you had to think about it. Thank you for  _thinking_.”  
  
His hand was stroking through her hair, as if awed by its color and length. Ginny slowly relaxed. There was no sign that he was running off to sleep with Malfoy right now. So that might mean it was more than lust.  
  
 _Wait. Shouldn’t I be more relieved if it was_ only  _lust_?  
  
But Ginny was starting to think she liked Harry when  _he_ thought, too. So she tightened her own hold on him, and when he made a little movement towards the bedroom and an inquiring noise in his throat, she was more than happy to go along.  
  
*  
  
“So. Er.”  
  
Harry tried to smile, but it looked twisted and conniving on his face, and he must have decided that it was wrong from Draco’s blank stare at him. He banished it quickly.  
  
Draco coughed and shifted from foot to foot. It was as though having acceptance from Astoria and Weasley meant they couldn’t be as intense with each other as they could when they were stealing momentary glances and talking about what it would be like if they could be together. Suddenly, they could be together.  
  
And it wasn’t working.  
  
Then Harry cleared his throat. Draco glanced up, and saw something he never had before. Harry was removing his glasses.  
  
Draco licked his lips. His mouth was dry, and that was why he needed to moisten his lips. But he could feel himself growing hard. Harry had always insisted on keeping his glasses on, even when they kissed. He’d explained that if someone came around the corner, he had to be able to act normally in the next few seconds and give them no reason to suspect.  
  
Now, the suspicion was gone. And Draco took in a breath full of that intensity that had existed between him and Harry when they met behind closed doors, and released it. What he pulled into his lungs had a brightness and openness about it that healed him.  
  
Yes, perhaps there wasn’t as much passion right at first. But they had something better, and Draco’s hands didn’t shake as he reached for Harry, the way he had thought they might. Harry had started to pull off his shirt, but willingly reached up to meet Draco’s hands instead, and they fell that way onto the bed together.  
  
That meant some playful wrestling back and forth, and the laughter that broke from Harry’s throat was something Draco had never heard, either. Harry didn’t want to attract attention. He didn’t want to give the supposedly astute gossip-mongers in the Ministry reason to suspect he was cheating on his wife. Draco wondered why he would think the tale-spreaders would get  _that_ right when they were wrong so much of the time about Harry’s love life, but he had accepted the proscription.  
  
Now there were no proscriptions left.  
  
Draco straddled Harry’s hips and kissed him breathless, then finally got Harry’s shirt off, and his own. Then he dropped straight down, spreading his legs out to take in both the stretch of Harry’s hips and their erections, and pressed their chests together. He gasped. The warmth of skin against skin was something he had often felt with Astoria, but this was different. New. Not the same.  
  
But equally beloved.  
  
Harry reached up to hold his head still and kiss him again. At least, Draco thought that was the plan. He probably ruined it by ducking his head up instead and sliding his tongue into Harry’s mouth.  
  
And from there, their neat little plans broke down. They rolled and grappled and wallowed in the blankets, and ended up with Draco pinned to the edge of the bed, Harry thrusting against him so desperately, his face so red, that Draco went with it in case Harry showed a sudden tendency to die of an apoplexy. Draco wouldn’t have  _thought_ so, but his face was that red.  
  
Then Harry shuddered against him, and where hardness had been rubbing against hardness Draco felt a melting softness and warmth and wetness. That was all that was needed to call his own warmth and wetness forth, and he thrashed and hissed under Harry as he fought his way to completion.  
  
Harry rolled over to the side like a tree falling and took Draco in his arms, Draco tucked his head beneath his chin and snuggled back, and they breathed together.  
  
“Not the way I pictured our first time together,” Harry finally mumbled.  
  
“Well, we’d been waiting a long time,” Draco said sensibly. He raised his hand and aligned Harry’s face the right way for a kiss. “But we don’t need to do that again. We’ve got what we wanted.”  
  
Harry watched him for a long second, then nodded and leaned down to kiss him again. “I still can’t believe Ginny agreed,” he said.  
  
Draco thought of telling him about the way he had sometimes seen Weasley watching Thomas, when he and Thomas worked together in the Ministry immediately after Hogwarts and Weasley would come by to wait for her boyfriend. The sublime look in her eyes, the tilted-back head and the hands that enwound Thomas’s arms like vines.  
  
But he decided not to. Weasley had probably already told Harry, and if she hadn’t, it was her own business. Besides, there was no saying that she would go back to Thomas now, even if Harry had made her the same promise that Draco had made Astoria.  
  
From here, they would go on. There would be challenges, undoubtedly, and different problems plaguing them until they addressed them.  
  
But the most important thing would be that they would go on.  
  
*  
  
“Draco? Is there something wrong between you and Astoria?”  
  
Narcissa thought the question a delicate one, sensibly phrased, if blunter than she would have made it a few years ago. But then, she had learned that her son didn’t always notice when something subtle came his way. Better to make it direct and back off and apologize later if she needed to than risk Draco not understanding or feeling stupid.  
  
But Draco only stared at her with the same expression of puzzlement that he would have used if she had tried to approach this obliquely. “What do you mean?”  
  
“Well…” said Narcissa, and led his gaze across the party.   
  
Astoria stood with a tall wizard who was related in some way to the Greengrass family, although Narcissa could not say how as she had not developed an intense interest in the genealogy of any pure-blood family except of the Blacks and Malfoys. Narcissa had thought the relation made their close association with each other unexceptionable at first, but there was a glow to Astoria’s eyes and cheeks that she did not like, and the way she let her hand rest on the man’s arm was also attention of the sort to make Narcissa stare.  
  
Draco was smiling indulgently when she looked back at him. “It’s all right,” he answered when Narcissa waited. “We worked out a—a relationship.”  
  
“A bargain?” Narcissa asked. She could not keep the distaste from her voice. She knew many pure-blood families made such bargains, but not did not allow them to appear in  _public_.  
  
“No,” said Draco. “A relationship. I’m still in love with Astoria, but I’m in love with someone else, too. And I don’t see why that can’t happen. I don’t know if she’ll just sleep with this man. Maybe, to explore her freedom, but I think Astoria is someone who wants more commitment than that.”  
  
Narcissa must have looked bewildered, because Draco bent down and kissed her cheek. “I don’t expect you to understand, Mother,” he said. “Not many people do. But I told Harry that we should ask, and Astoria accepted it, and Weasley accepted it.”  
  
Narcissa opened her mouth, less to demand how this had started than to demand how it had started with Harry  _Potter_ , of all people. But her son, who she was beginning to see in a deeper light than before, suddenly turned his head, and Narcissa was the one who followed his eyes this time.  
  
Harry Potter had just walked in the door, and was handing his cloak to the house-elves and accepting a drink from an astonished on-looker as though he did this sort of thing every day.  
  
“Weasley must not have wanted to come,” Draco murmured, nodding, and stepped back with a smile at her. “If you’ll excuse me, Mother.”  
  
Narcissa had to excuse him, unless she wanted to accuse her son of rudeness, since he glided away from her and up to Potter. Potter received him with a half-smile that made Narcissa shake her head. If she had thought Potter a high-society, pure-blood sophisticate, the smile would have convinced her he was playing with Draco.  
  
But she knew him for anything but, which meant she had to accept the sincerity.  
  
She took a long look at Draco before turning back to consider Astoria and her apparent companion for the evening. Yes, Draco was deeper than she had thought, and might be walking down a road towards heartbreak that Narcissa had counted on his marriage to preserve him from. It was the greatest blessing of her life that Draco had found happiness with the wife he had married for inheritance reasons.  
  
But the Draco she had thought she knew would be neither courageous nor intelligent nor passionate enough to make a decision like this, or carry it through.  
  
It was something to think about.  
  
*  
  
Ron cautiously stuck his head out of the fire. “Mate? You didn’t come to dinner, and you promised Hermione you…”  
  
He let his voice trail off when he saw Harry sitting on the couch, staring at the ceiling, a glass of Firewhisky next to him. Ron grimaced. Ever since what they referred to around Hermione as the Green Chair Incident, seeing Harry drunk was cause for grimacing.  
  
“What’s wrong?” Ron prepared himself to listen to some tale of a row between Harry and Ginny. He had long since learned to hold back from taking sides between his best mate and his sister, but it still made for unpleasant listening.  
  
Harry sighed. “Sometimes I think it’s all  _shit._ That he’s reformed, that he really believes different things now, and then he’ll refer to my mother as a  _Mudblood_.”  
  
Ron wondered if it was too late for a strategic retreat. He could just about handle a row between Harry and Ginny. He couldn’t take listening to the recounting of a row between Harry and Malfoy, especially since they seemed to row about sex a lot, and then Ron had to listen to details that made the details of the Green Chair Incident look minor.  
  
But he was a best friend, and if he didn’t understand this—this octagon that Harry and Ginny and Malfoy had worked out, well, he would do his best. He rallied his breath and his patience and said, “Why’d he call your mum a Mudblood?”  
  
Harry turned red eyes towards him. Ron hoped it was more from the drink than from crying, because then Ron would be obliged to hunt Malfoy down, and it was hard enough to explain why he was beating a political flunky up. Having to explain that he was beating up his brother-in-law’s lover was right out.  
  
“Because we were talking about the war, and I started telling him it was Mum who saved everyone, not me.” Harry swept a restless hand back and forth over the couch. “He said that was shit, and we argued a while. We’d been drinking.” He swallowed. “And then he said that it was just tolerable that someone who never knew what he’d had done had saved us all, but not a—a woman who was  _that_ word. And that other mothers had sacrificed their lives for their babies, and that didn’t stop Voldemort. So why did  _I_ have to be so special.” Harry curled up around his glass and sniffled some more.  
  
Ron felt vast relief. There was an out. “But he was drinking,” he said. “Does he always keep his temper when he’s drunk?”  
  
Harry frowned more over that question than it merited. Finally, he admitted, “No.”  
  
“Well, then,” Ron said. “I bet if you fire-called him, right now, he’d be sitting around feeling sorry for himself and wondering why he said it. And then you could reconcile, and that’s your reason for missing dinner.” He did care about Harry’s state of happiness, he really did, but _he_ had a wife he had to placate.  
  
Harry brightened. “Do you think so?”  
  
“Sure.” Ron waved a benign hand. “Never say that I didn’t do anything for your love tetrahedron, or whatever it is.”  
  
“Tetra—right.” Harry was also at the stage of drunkenness where he wouldn’t attempt the word. But he gave Ron that breathtaking smile that Ron had to admit had only started appearing since he got involved with Malfoy, and stood up unsteadily. “I’ll do that. Thank you, Ron. You’re a good friend.” He would have said something else, but hiccoughs interrupted him.  
  
Ron withdrew gracefully from the fire. He could give Hermione a good excuse as to why Harry wasn’t coming. And it was even  _true_.  
  
Who cared about the essential weirdness of Harry’s life, compared with that? It had always been essentially weird.  
  
*  
  
“Ginny’s pregnant.”  
  
Draco blinked at Harry, and then put down his glass on the counter. “Well, damn,” he said. “Congratulations.”  
  
Only until the line of tension rolled along Harry’s shoulders and ebbed did Draco realize that Harry had been  _afraid_ of what he would say. He stepped around the counter and sat down beside him, shaking his head. They had the kitchen to themselves for the night; Ginny was eating dinner with Astoria and Hermione, who had become Astoria’s friend for reasons that Draco still found hard to understand.  
  
“Yeah.” Harry gave a shivering, shaking breath, and drew his hand through his hair. “I was nervous when I found out about it.”  
  
“And not about when I would find out?” Draco’s voice as he asked the question was dry. He couldn’t help that.  
  
Harry gave him such a gape-jawed look that Draco rolled his eyes. “I’ve got good at reading your mood, you know.” He took Harry’s hand and gave it a quick rub, then lowered it down, still clasped in his. “And I suppose you should know that Astoria and I are trying. She says she thinks she’s ready to raise a child. She always said that she felt too young before. She  _is_ two years younger than us.”  
  
“Well, Ginny’s a year younger,” Harry began.  
  
Draco rolled his eyes. “Yes, I know. You and your need to have to be the same, to prove everything.”  
  
“Well, maybe Astoria will be pregnant soon and then we can be the same in that,” Harry said comfortably, and leaned his head on Draco’s shoulder. Draco stroked the nape of his neck and felt the silence creep back. Only now, feeling how comfortable how it was, did he realize that Harry’s fear had been infecting the whole of the room, maybe the whole of the house.   
  
Draco licked his lips. Without that fear, he felt confident enough to ask for what he wanted, what Astoria had hinted she wanted, and what he sometimes suspected Ginny wanted, from the way she considered him. It was possible that Harry would refuse, the same way Astoria could have refused when Draco said he loved Harry.  
  
“There’s something I think we might want,” Draco murmured.  
  
Harry raised his head. “Child-rearing advice? I think I’d be terrible at it, but I could try to give you some.”  
  
Draco laughed in spite of himself. “No, you git. You don’t even have a baby yet.”  
  
“But we will soon.” Harry’s grin was cat-like. He curled himself more into Draco’s side and nudged him with a toe. “So you might as well go ahead and tell me what you want. Because you know that I’m going to find out anyway.”  
  
Draco nodded. He still tried to keep  _some_ secrets from Harry, but it was hard to do when those secrets concerned Harry in any form or fashion. He was always going about and discovering them. “Fine. Astoria told me that she was thinking about the four of us together.”  
  
Harry’s mouth opened, probably to give the expected answer that that was natural when they were so often together, and then hung there. He shut it and swallowed, a little. “As in, together in one bed?”  
  
“Maybe a couch,” Draco said. “It would have to be a large bed.”  
  
Harry snorted in spite of himself, as Draco could tell from the noisy breath he took a second later. “Right. Right.” He hesitated, then added, “Do you think it would work? I mean, I’m fine with trying it, but—not if it leaves us with a problem later on.”  
  
“Astoria will cast a contraceptive charm so that you don’t get her pregnant,” Draco said. “And you don’t need to worry about that with Ginny, for the obvious reasons.”  
  
Harry shoved him, hard, and then sat looking at him.  
  
Draco nodded. He used his sense of humor a lot more than he used to now that he was around Harry—he knew his mother was wondering where he had found it—but there were some things that were too serious for joking. He took Harry’s hands and turned to face him.  
  
“I don’t think this is something we can know, unless we try it out,” he said. “And in the meantime, I don’t think it’ll break us. Asking our wives to agree to this might have broken us. Falling in love with each other might have broken us. But we’re—not immune to what might come now, but stronger to face it.”  
  
Harry thought about that, gazing into the fire. Draco let him. He wanted badly for Harry to face him, wanted to know what he was thinking, but knew forcing it would be the worst thing possible right now.  
  
Finally, Harry sighed and looked at him fully. “I’m willing to try,” he said.  
  
Draco leaned forwards and kissed him, and the moment quickly transmuted, the way it always did between them, quick-flowering and as quick to fall as the drifting, dancing fire.  
  
*  
  
Ginny stood there with her arms folded over her breasts. She was naked in front of Harry, which was normal, and naked in front of Astoria, which was new but didn’t particularly bother her given the fact that Astoria was naked too…  
  
But Draco Sodding Malfoy was another matter.  
  
Draco Sodding Malfoy, unaware of the new addition she had made to his name, smiled at her and stripped off his own shirt. “Come on, Ginny,” he said, and walked over to the large bed in the middle of the room. They were at Malfoy Manor, of course. They had to be, because it was the only place that had the extravagant, plushy bed that both Harry and Ginny had insisted on. “Don’t you want to try it now?”  
  
Ginny glared harder.  
  
“Maybe that’s not the right way to reach you,” Draco said, and stretched out his hand, snapping his fingers the way he would to taunt a Kneazle. Ginny knew it because Astoria had said that he taunted their new Kneazle kitten the same way. “Come on. I  _dare_ you. Unless you’re scared?” He smiled, sweetly enough that Ginny knew he was picturing a lot of things that had nothing to do with her naked.  
  
And that was enough to make her cross the distance to the bed. But only because she chose to answer the dare.  
  
*  
  
Harry found himself tangled up with Astoria Malfoy, her long blond hair in his hands, kissing her as if her heart would break.  
  
She gasped under him and reached up one hand to touch his shoulder. It was already slick with sweat. Harry couldn’t remember that part. He had only recently found his way back to his body again, out of such obliviating sensual pleasure as he hadn’t known could exist.   
  
He pushed his cock against her hip, and Astoria sighed and twisted her head to the side, and Draco rose up behind Harry and bit him on the shoulder in the place Astoria had touched, licking as if he wanted to taste the imprint of her hand.  
  
Ginny was lying next to them, one hand between her legs, but not moving. Harry didn’t know whether she was seeing him with her bright eyes or not. That they were bright was the only thing that mattered, at the moment.  
  
Harry kissed Astoria again, thrilled with the taste of her tongue, and twisted back to kiss Draco, and by that time Ginny was there, too, demanding his attention by the simple expedient of wriggling underneath him and licking his bare thigh.  
  
Then he lost himself again, but it was the first time he ever had, and he suspected that he could be forgiven, for that.  
  
*  
  
Astoria opened her eyes in the sunlight.  
  
Last night, she’d had other things to think about, but now she turned her sore neck and saw the sunshine pouring in through the enchanted window on the wall, a large one. She smiled a little. Trust Malfoy ancestors to have put this window here, and their descendants to have kept it up, in a wing where almost no one ever went.   
  
Astoria turned and surveyed the bed beside her. It was huge and white and round and covered with pillows, although Astoria had the small idea that it hadn’t been until they had conjured the pillows when they were done. Nearest her was a tumble of red hair, but Draco’s face was the one that showed through it, and Harry’s body under his head, as if they were a composite of all of them. She lay a little way apart, but that wasn’t surprising. She found it hard to sleep snuggled so close to another body, too hot.  
  
They had done it.  
  
And it was wild, the way an ocean wave was wild, but it hadn’t hammered them down.  
  
Astoria saw that Draco was awake, and watching her. His hand moved, somewhere under Ginny. Astoria found the tips of his fingers emerging, and touched them, while Ginny and Harry slept on.  
  
She had leaped through the wild waves, and the world hadn’t come crumbling down. There was the love she and Draco shared, and there was the world outside that, which was big enough and bright enough to hold them all, and not hard enough to destroy her.  
  
Astoria splayed her hand over her belly, and smiled.  
  
 **The End.**


End file.
